


The Abbas Parva Tragedy

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [67]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Circus, F/M, Government Conspiracy, Justice, M/M, Murder, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, cover-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Mr. Kean Hardland provides a case for his lover's brother, in which a seemingly motiveless killing turns out to be yet another government cock-up-cum-conspiracy.





	The Abbas Parva Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulcan1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulcan1/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Power corrupts.

A theme that I have noticed through several of these 'new' cases has been abuse of power, as the institutions that were set up to protect us and make our lives better become ever larger and tend to act in their own interests rather than those of the people who pay their wages. And as cases like those of the Baldwin Gang and the “Friesland” showed all too well, they do not consider the loss of the odd life here of there to be a price that others should not pay for their continued comfort and ease. To coin a certain Mr. Mycroft Holmes' favourite phrase, one cannot make an omelette without breaking the occasional egg. Or four.

Talking of annoying middle siblings this case also showed that Kean could (annoyingly) be right yet again – my brother Mycroft was indeed capable of making a bad situation even worse!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

It was only a few days into 'Ninety-Five when 221B Baker Street was graced with an unexpected visitor. Not (fortunately) Holmes' brother Mycroft, who had not believed his brother would refuse him assistance only to arrive and be shot at – I was _fairly_ sure that my friend aimed to miss – and to depart rather more quickly than he had arrived. No, this visitor was altogether... larger.

Mr. Kean Hardland had presented his card and arrived like any other person seeking Holmes' assistance. As I have said before, the relationship between my friend and his brother's lover was an uneasy one; Holmes regarded Mr. Hardland as someone whose relationship might be used against a relative of his by those for whom any Holmes might be considered fair game, whilst Mr. Hardland resented that quiet disapproval. And for someone of his physicality, that was a whole lot of resentment.

I did not make sure that I had a solid table between myself and the visiting behemoth, and _someone_ might try not smirking for once!

“Mr. Hardland”, Holmes said levelly. “Welcome. How is Sherrinford?”

I noted that he used his brother's full name rather than the usual 'Sherry', which I knew both his brother and our visitor did not like. 

“Rin is well, thank you”, our visitor said. “I am here today to ask if you would investigate something for an acquaintance of mine.”

“Pray proceed”, Holmes said.

“It is the Abbas Parva murder.”

I baulked at that name. The tragic death of young Michael Lucas in the Berkshire village had divided opinion across the nation when it had hit the newspapers the previous month, just two days before the end of the old year. The nineteen-year-old had been found drowned in Molesley Lake, not far south of the city of Oxford and barely a mile from the orphanage in Abbas Magna where he had lived. What had made the case so notorious had been allegations, subsequently refuted by the coroner's report, that the young man had been strangled. The Ronder Circus had been encamped between the Abbas villages and Mr. Lucas had last been seen headed in the direction of their camp. This was almost exactly the opposite direction from the lake where he had been found however, and the coroner had expressed considerable doubt over the witness who had reported the sighting.

“Rin and I employ a young accountant, Mr. Edmund Knight, in our business”, Mr. Hardland said. “He also does the books for the circuses which operate around the Home Counties and was visiting the Ronder Circus at the time of the tragedy.”

“The coroner's report seemed quite thorough from what I read in the newspaper?” Holmes asked. “You have reason to doubt the validity of that report?”

Our visitor smiled dourly.

“Eddie is a decent enough fellow”, he said. “He has absolutely no imagination whatsoever, though I suppose in his line of work that's hardly a requirement. But he is sharp and there's something.... well, I'd like him to tell you himself. I've read enough of the doctor's stories to know when something looks wrong, and if what he says is true – and I think it is – then there is a lot more to this death than meets the eye!”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Hardland thanked us and left, but he had not been gone more than a minute before we heard a commotion in the street outside. Moments later he returned dragging a clearly unwilling scruffy young fellow with him. Holmes scowled at the newcomer.

“Cranbrook!” he growled. “What foul wind brings you here?”

“Just passing, Mr. Holmes!” the man gasped, trying to free himself from the behemoth's implacable grip. He had no chance.

“This was the same fellow I saw when I came here”, Mr. Hardland growled. “I recognized him from his cap. What's your game, cur?”

“This man is a professional watcher”, Holmes said. “One of the better ones; you did well to entrap him. Now the only question is as to which means of torture he would prefer to undergo.”

The trapped man whined in terror.

“I am sure”, Holmes said, “that however sent you is capable of inflicting all sorts of punishments on you if you were so foolish to get caught, as you have done. I have more than adequate contacts who can uncover the name of your employer, to whom I would of course imply that you had told me the same.”

The man somehow contrived to look even more frightened.

“I can take him with me”, Mr. Hardland growled. “The lads and I are used to dealing with the odd client who can't behave. I'm sure we can get it out of him sooner – one way or another!”

“Perhaps that would be for the best”, Holmes conceded. The trapped man shook his head violently.

“It was Mr. Bone!” he groaned. “He told me to do it.”

The name meant nothing to either myself or Mrs. Hardland but, from the narrowing of his eyes, it clearly did to Holmes.

“Mr. Curzon Bone is one of those agents used by people to employ others to do their dirty work for them”, he said. “A middle-man. Fortunately it will be fairly easy to find out who is using the scoundrel's services. I shall ask around and will doubtless have the answer within a day at most.”

“Let me go!” the trapped man pleaded.

“Not a chance!” Mr. Hardland retorted. 

“Perhaps we should”, Holmes smiled. “After all, we know he lives at number seven Nighthawk Lane in Bermondsey along with his wife and four children. Doubtless he is currently wondering if he should warn Mr. Bone so that his actual employer might be alerted. Such a move would be most unwise, Cranbrook. Most likely fatal.”

Mr. Hardland suddenly dropped the man into the carpet.

“Now I know where you live”, he grinned. “If Mr. Holmes here is inconvenienced at all because you were a tattle-tale, you'd better keep a sharp eye over your shoulder for the rest of your wretched life. You never know when me and the boys might be after you!”

The man scrabbled for the door and we could hear him almost falling down the stairs. Holmes sighed.

“I shall have to ask Miss Richards for a favour”, he said. “Possibly two, because I have an uneasy feeling that this will be a most difficult case. We shall call in on your friend on our way, Mr. Hardland.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Mr. Edmund Knight was I thought the archetypal young accountant, about thirty years of age with dark and already receding hair, a round face and a worried expression.

“I was there when they brought the body in”, he explained. “I have read all of your cases published in the _”Strand”_ magazine, sirs, and... well, I spotted something that was just odd. And I did not like to say anything at the time because people would have thought I was stupid.”

“Mr. Hardland does not think that”, Holmes said. “Pray tell us what disturbed you.”

The young man thought for a moment.

“The dead man was identified by someone at the orphanage”, he said, “and taken away. Very quickly, almost immediately after the _post mortem_. That wasn't the odd thing though. You see, I had a telegram from my father who had been taken ill, so I had to return to London. Imagine my surprise when on the station platform I saw none other than the man from the orphanage.”

“Maybe he had business in London?” I suggested.

“I thought that too”, Mr. Knight said, “and I thought I was probably making something out of nothing, although the fact that he travelled first-class also struck me as strange. He did not dress like someone who used first-class, or so I thought. Fortunately he did not notice me, and I was able to walk out of the station to the cab-rank after him. When he got there, the destination he gave was the government offices in Whitehall!”

That was the precise moment when I got the bad feeling.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Miss Richards peered at us over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses.

“Yes, I did wonder about Abbas Parva”, she said. “Certain things did not quite add up, but as it was not my concern I let it go. You are here to inquire as to who employed a professional follower through the offices of Mr. Curzon Bone earlier today to track down your brother's friend Mr. Hardland?”

Somehow I was not surprised in the least that she knew. Holmes nodded.

“I very much fear that this will be another governmental case”, he said. “Am I right?”

She nodded.

“Your brother Mycroft sent one of his men to do it at eight twenty-five this morning”, she said. “You might tell him that stripes really do not become a figure as rotund as his. There are some things that my poor agents should not be subjected to before breakfast!”

I smiled at that.

“What I am looking for”, Holmes said, “is an unexplained death in London.”

Even I snorted at that. Miss Richards chuckled and Holmes shot me an injured look.

“It is my belief”, he said, “that Mr. Lucas was killed not for anything he did or did not do. He was killed because of his physical resemblance to someone whose death was important. That death would have to have taken place only days before his own.”

Miss Richards nodded.

“It should be easy to locate the man”, she said. “You do know that your brother Mycroft will not be happy.”

“What will he do?” I snipped. “Start wearing polka-dots?”

Holmes shook his head at me but smiled.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Holmes surprised me a few days later when he said that we would shortly be receiving a visit from a very angry Mycroft. I wondered how he knew but only a few short minutes later there was the sound of angry yelling from the stairs leading up to our rooms. Soon after Mr. Mycroft Holmes burst into the room unannounced, rubbing his head.

“Your landlady hit me!” he said accusingly to his brother. Holmes sighed.

“Do not worry”, he said. “I shall go down later to see if she is all right.”

“ _She_ hit _me!”_ his brother protested. “With a silver tray!” 

“That was unwise on her part”, Holmes said. “Silver damages so easily. I am sure that she will send you the repair bill.”

I may not have exactly helped the situation by failing to stifle a giggle at this point. Mr. Mycroft Holmes glared at me then seated himself without being asked.

“You visited the American Embassy today”, he began.

“I did”, Holmes said. “Has Her Majesty's Government passed any recent legislation which makes that a crime in some way?”

This time I held in the laugh. Well, sort of held in. I thought about holding it in!

“You _did_ get something from Essex!” his brother said accusingly. “I knew you were lying when you said there were no papers!”

“I would be very careful about throwing about accusations of mendacity”, Holmes cautioned. “For example, when I start asking you about having certain people murdered it might prove a tad awkward, at least when you do eventually stand in front of St. Peter.”

His brother shot to his feet and looked set to advance on Holmes, but my friend remained calm. Mr. Mycroft Holmes had to make a visible effort to pull himself together.

“You will tell us about the death of Constable Joseph Pilkington”, Holmes said levelly. “Watson will take notes to which you will _not_ object. Then we shall proceed from there.”

For a moment I wondered if his brother was going to gainsay him, but he slumped sulkily back onto the sofa. 

“Not my doing”, Mycroft said defensively. “I do not kill innocent people.”

“Friesland”, Holmes muttered.

“That was not _my_ government, damnation!”

The mantle-piece clock really did have a loud tick, I thought.

“Mr. Jacob Delaware”, our visitor said at last. “One of the officials assigned to royal duty. That idiot constable got suspicious that he was committing fraud and pushed the matter. Delaware had him killed.”

I was shocked at the casual nature of his remarks, although considering some of the acts that I had seen perpetrated by those in positions of authority perhaps I should not have been. Holmes nodded.

“Was he behind the cover-up?” he asked. “Remember brother, I will know if you lie to me.”

I really should not have felt pleasure at seeing another man shake with fear. Oh well.

“He was”, he said. “He came from Abbas Magna originally and had all the right connections there, including the fellow in charge of the orphanage. He found young Lucas, they killed him and Pilkington, then they put the boy's personal effects on the body.”

“Drowning also doubtless helped to make things less clear”, Holmes said. “I am sure that the coroner was in on it. Tell me, did Mr. Lucas have any relatives?”

His brother shook his head.

“The nearest one is a cousin up in Selkirkshire”, he said. “They never met.”

“And Constable Pilkington?”

“Newly married with one child, a daughter”, Mycroft said.

“And you ruined their lives!” I could not help but say.

“One cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs”, he said loftily (I had written that down already).

“I can”, Holmes said coldly. “You will arrange a full police pension for Mrs. Pilkington, with a generous bonus for the delay. You will do this in twenty-four hours Mycroft, or the American Embassy will be getting rather more than a passing visit. And they will not be the only ones.”

“All right”, his brother said sulkily. “And Mr. Delaware?”

Holmes smiled coldly.

“Before you leave this room, the doctor will take a telegram to the post office for me”, he said. “As a consequence of that telegram Mr. Delaware will not see this evening's sunset. And you, brother..... if I never see you again, it will be too soon!”

He quickly penned a few lines and handed a piece of paper to me. I left the room quickly.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It is probably yet another damning indictment of Mr. Mycroft Holmes that his brother had to check up that he had indeed secured Mrs. Pilkington her pension. He did in fact admit Mycroft to Baker Street at the end of the same year in the case of poor Mr. Cadogan West ( _The Bruce-Partington Plans_ ) but I do know that several requests for cases throughout the year were either refused or answered only in writing. 

The next day, the _”Times”_ reported that the body of a government official called Mr. Jacob Delaware had been dragged out of the Thames. He had been shot. Six times. On a totally unrelated matter Holmes arranged for two large boxes of expensive pastries to be dispatched, one each to Miss Richards and Miss Day.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
